The story of Pakistan is deeply tied to its rivers, its land, and above all, its people who have withstood every test of time with unmatched resilience. Among the rivers that define our geography and our agriculture, the Sutlej stands as both a symbol of vulnerability and of strength. For much of the year, the Sutlej runs nearly dry within Pakistan’s territory, its waters heavily controlled upstream by India. It is only during the monsoon or flood releases that Pakistan sees it swell, sometimes violently, creating threats to communities along its banks. This erratic flow is not a natural rhythm but a reminder of how politics, treaties, and transboundary water management dictate the fate of millions downstream.
As I argued in my recent article in The Friday Times, climate change has already turned into a weapon in the hands of states, shifting from what we once saw as projections of India’s climate championship to now Modi’s climate terrorism. On this front India’s deliberate manipulation of shared water has too often functioned as climate terrorism in practice. The Sutlej is a living example of this fragility, where even a threat from India’s leadership to stop the waters runs against the very nature of rivers. Water cannot be stopped, it will always find its way. But the fact that such threats were made shows the precariousness of Pakistan’s water security and the courage required of its people to survive under such conditions.
Climate variability intensifies this challenge. La Niña phases typically strengthen monsoon systems over parts of South Asia, compressing intense rainfall into shorter windows. In La Niña years, India’s sudden releases into the Sutlej arrive faster and more forcefully, which means Pakistan’s side of the basin faces a double pressure of climate pulses and upstream operational decisions. For farmers, that translates into narrow decision windows for moving livestock, securing seed and inputs, and protecting standing crops like rice, maize and fodder that suffer from lodging and stem rot when water lingers. In plain terms, families along the river live between drought and deluge, planning for both at once.
At the ground level, however, it is not abstract geopolitics but local institutions that stand between devastation and safety. In Pakpattan, recent flood preparedness and management have shown that resilience does not come from rhetoric, but from the hard work of local administrators, district staff and farmers themselves. Like in my native district, Pakpattan, the office of the Deputy Commissioner, along with the district team, established emergency control rooms, relief camps, mobilised resources and coordinated with departments whose primary mandates often lie outside disaster response.
Pakistan must not only react to disasters but also prepare with foresight
Staff from revenue, livestock, agriculture, health, irrigation and other departments along with Punjab Emergency Service (Rescue 1122) took on responsibilities that in a more organised system would fall to disaster management authorities. Because the Provincial Disaster Management Authority and the National Disaster Management Authority have limited to no human resource footprints at the very local level, it is these district departments that become the first and last line of defence. While they have responded admirably, this substitution is not sustainable. Disaster management authorities must expand their presence to the grassroots so that specialised teams can lead flood response and departmental staff are not forced to abandon their core duties during crises.
Unfortunately, while these efforts continue, the role of local media has not always reflected the ground reality. Journalism is essential in times of crisis both to inform people and to hold power accountable, and many reporters do this work with courage and care. Yet some local reporting has leaned toward misrepresentation. When weaknesses in bunds were highlighted recently, television reports wrongly portrayed the issue as negligence on the part of Pakpattan’s district administration. In reality, the more vulnerable stretches and the embankment under question lay on the Bahawalnagar side, outside Pakpattan’s jurisdiction.
The Baba Farid Bridge, which connects Pakpattan and Bahawalnagar across the Sutlej (situated in Bahawalnagar District), became a focal point for speculation even as district teams were doing steady, unglamorous work to protect people and assets. By blurring such distinctions, sections of the media risk undermining public confidence in institutions that are, in fact, working tirelessly under immense constraints. This is not to dismiss the genuine work done by many journalists in amplifying the voices of affected communities, but accuracy must remain at the core of reporting. Local coverage carries national and even international weight because it shapes external perceptions about Pakistan’s governance, its infrastructure safety and its reliability as an agricultural supplier. In times of climate stress, responsible local reporting is a strategic national asset.
The Sutlej, then, becomes more than just a river. It is a mirror of Pakistan’s struggles with climate change, transboundary politics, limited institutional footprints and also its profound resilience. The people of Pakpattan and other riverine communities embody the spirit of Pakistan’s farmers, communities that continue to sow, harvest and rebuild no matter how many times they are tested. These are the same farmers who, despite facing erratic weather, input crises and price manipulations, keep Pakistan’s food security intact. Their stamina is the true strength of the nation, and their daily labour is the quiet guarantee behind every sack of wheat, bale of fodder and litre of milk that reaches our cities.
Compared to August 2023, when prolonged high floods submerged thousands of acres across Kasur, Okara, Pakpattan, Bahawalnagar and Vehari, the situation so far this year is relatively less severe. In 2025, the Sutlej has shown sharper but quicker pulses that rise and recede faster, meaning there is far less water standing than what was experienced at this time last year. However, the risk of further peaks remains if upstream rainfall and releases continue, while embankments and drainage systems may face pressure in future.
Pakistan’s challenge today is twofold. We must strengthen local capacity where the real work is done, and we must confront the broader climate and geopolitical dynamics that shape the river’s behaviour. Just as water cannot be stopped by force, the resilience of Pakistan’s people cannot be broken by negligence, misreporting or threats. Each new trial, whether floods, droughts or cross-border water politics, reinforces the will of Pakistanis to endure and to demand better governance. It should also reinforce our diplomatic insistence that upstream decisions respect downstream lives.
As I have long argued, including in my earlier writings, Pakistan must not only react to disasters but also prepare with foresight. This requires a district-anchored disaster management system with permanent PDMA and NDMA footprints, transparent and timely sharing of gauge information with the public, and continuous maintenance of embankments, particularly in stretches that are structurally more vulnerable. It also demands recognition that the accuracy of local media reporting is a matter of national interest.
In the Sutlej valley of Pakpattan, we are witnessing this challenge unfold before our eyes. It is a reminder that our rivers are not only sources of life but also of unity and resilience. And if history is any guide, Pakistan and its farmers will continue to emerge stronger with every test they face.